


not everything is always just as it seems

by syllogismos



Series: f*ck the world [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual!Sherlock, Asexuality, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Slice of Life, but not technically a post-Reichenbach fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syllogismos/pseuds/syllogismos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John sees the <em>Sun</em>’s lurid headline, he says, “Well, if that’s what everyone thinks… Well, <em>fuck</em> the world, then.”</p><p>The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curls up. “I think you came pretty close, but you missed a continent.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	not everything is always just as it seems

**Author's Note:**

> For [a prompt on the meme](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=124235759).
> 
> tl;dr: Dialogue prompt + asexual!Sherlock and John in a fluffy, established relationship where they've reached a good compromise in terms of satisfying John's (hyper)sexuality while not making Sherlock uncomfortable.
> 
> Title from Guster's "What You Call Love" off their album _Easy Wonderful_.

When John sees the _Sun_ ’s lurid headline, he says, “Well, if that’s what everyone thinks… Well, _fuck_ the world, then.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curls up. “I think you came pretty close, but you missed a continent.”

John snorts and tosses the paper aside. It doesn’t matter. It’s hilarious, really. The layers of irony are almost too numerous to pick apart. After Sherlock’s Return, they’d been hounded by paparazzi, and it was probably inevitable that a comprising—that is, _apparently_ compromising—picture would emerge eventually. And so this one had. John’s on his knees, Sherlock’s trousers are down, and his head is tipped back, the long lines of his throat exposed. It looks for all the world as if John’s giving Sherlock the blowjob of his life in a dingy back alley.

The ironies, enumerated, are as follows:

  1. John and Sherlock are in a romantic relationship, but what they were actually doing when the photograph was taken was not remotely romantic.

  2. John has gone down on Sherlock. But again, not what he was actually doing when the photo was snapped.

  3. John has, in fact, gone down on Sherlock only _once_ (to completion). Because Sherlock, while not repulsed by most sexual acts, hates the sensation of anything hot and wet on his penis.

  4. Sherlock is asexual.

  5. John and Sherlock do have sex, sometimes. But John sucking Sherlock off is pretty much the one thing that never happens, except for that one time. (See above.)

  6. And finally: John does, in fact, have a public sex kink, although he’d prefer somewhere more sanitary than a rat-riddled, rubbish-strewn alley. A parking garage, say. Or a seldom-visited corner of a library.




Mycroft offers to help file a defamation suit, but John declines. Sherlock is in the kitchen, ignoring the both of them.

They order takeaway to avoid going out. After dinner, John settles into his chair, a glass of wine beside him, and he cracks open the latest _BMJ_. At first, it doesn’t hold his interest. The damn picture in the damn _Sun_ has given him ideas. He reaches for his phone.

> Nice shoes. JW

Sherlock’s phone dings, and—without looking away from the microscope he’s bent over—he reaches into his dressing gown pocket to retrieve it. He holds the phone in front of the microscope so that he hardly has to move at all to read John’s text.

John is watching. Again with the half smile, just one side of Sherlock’s mouth turning up. But he doesn’t reply right away; that’s not how it’s done between them. If John wants sex, John is allowed to ask for it, whenever he wants. But he has to ask by text message.

As for Sherlock, Sherlock is allowed to respond however _he_ wants, but he has to wait at least ten minutes to respond, also via text.

This solution solves the following problems:

  1. John finds it hard to ask Sherlock for sex face-to-face since he knows that there is quite literally no time when Sherlock actually wants sex for the sake of sex itself. And certainly he doesn’t want to just try to initiate sex, as he probably would with a partner who wasn’t asexual. Texting is the perfect medium: impersonal but casual.

  2. Sherlock also appreciates the impersonal aspect. He’s never had trouble speaking his mind or refusing something (or someone) he doesn’t want, but with John things are more complicated. With John he’s tempted to subvert himself in order to please. And that’s the reason for the ten minutes, too. Sherlock needs time to assess, to let his first instinct (which is, essentially, to do whatever John wants) fade from the foreground, to consider what _he himself_ really wants.




Twelve minutes have passed. Sherlock picks up his mobile from where he’d set it down on the table and thumbs out his reply.

> Not tonight. SH

John schools himself not to react visibly, and it’s actually not much of an act. He really doesn’t mind. The unpredictability of when Sherlock is willing to have sexual relations with John and when he’s not is part of what makes their relationship exciting and, frankly, keeps John from getting bored. (His record with women before falling into a relationship with Sherlock is probably quite telling evidence of the ease with which he gets bored—or, rather, used to get bored—in a monogamous relationship.)

Sherlock finishes whatever he’s doing at the microscope in another half an hour. John has actually managed to find an interesting article in the _BMJ_ , and he’s halfway through it, mostly oblivious to Sherlock’s doings.

Sherlock fiddles at his violin, playing a few bars of one violin sonata, thirty seconds of a concerto, a run of scales and exercises, and finally discordant random notes. The last get John’s attention, and he looks up. Sherlock puts the violin away in a huff (although he’s never rough with the violin itself, or the bow).

“Tea?” John asks, moving to rise.

“I’ll do it.”

John gapes, and Sherlock pointedly ignores him.

Six minutes and Sherlock is bringing John his tea, setting the hot mug on the table beside John’s chair. John looks up.

“Thanks.”

Sherlock doesn’t move. He’s standing just in front of John’s chair, closer than would be appropriate if they weren’t…whatever they are to each other. (Partners is probably the best word for it.) Sherlock’s gaze is fixed on John, and John can’t look away. He can feel his heart rate speeding up, which is odd since he knows very well what isn’t happening tonight.

Except that is isn’t exactly not happening, because in the next moment Sherlock goes from standing before him to straddling him, his knees wedged between the arms of the chair and the outsides of John’s thighs, his arse resting on John’s knees, and his long fingers cradling John’s skull. His mouth is on John’s mouth, and he’s trying to force his tongue between lips that are frozen tight with surprise.

John pulls back as far as he can, which isn’t very far, and he tries to catch Sherlock’s line of sight.

“I thought you said–”

Sherlock exhales heavily. “I did. I don’t want _that_.” He leans forward to whisper his next words into John’s ear. “But I do want _this_.” And then he’s licking a wet stripe behind John’s ear and sucking on the lobe and chewing on his neck. John rubs his hands over Sherlock’s chest and down to his waist, where he untucks Sherlock’s shirt so that he can slide his hands beneath it and up the back, stroking up and down over hot skin. Sherlock hums and returns his attentions to John’s mouth.

John is open to his kisses now and kisses back. Sherlock sets the rhythm, slow and languid. Their lips cling and separate before coming back together. There’s the occasional brush of tongues, but it’s more about connecting and sharing than about tasting and having and possessing. John walks his fingers over the rounded bumps of Sherlock’s vertebrae, and Sherlock rubs his thumbs in small circles in front of John’s ears.

When Sherlock pulls away, John’s fingers still.

“Bed?” Sherlock asks.

John nods, and Sherlock knows that John knows that Sherlock still doesn’t want sex. The bedroom they go to is John’s, and Sherlock lets John strip him down to his vest and pants, and then he does the same for John. Sherlock gets into the bed first, lying down on his side with his back to the wall and holding the duvet up for John to get in. He curls around John from behind, tucking his knees into the backs of John’s and pressing his hips to John’s arse. John wriggles a bit, twisting his torso so that he can tip his face up and pull Sherlock’s head down into another kiss. Sherlock hums again, and John can’t help but smile, breaking the kiss. Sherlock smiles back and then folds John back into his embrace, nuzzling into his hair and squeezing his arm around John’s waist.

John tries to stay awake as long as he can to savor the moment, but it’s hopeless: it’s too perfect, with Sherlock’s warm breath in his hair and his entire body folded around John. John slips into sleep, and Sherlock follows.


End file.
